Chapter 4
Prologue, The Man-Eating God
My grandma was a real piece of work.
At her funeral, everyone was going on about how there was no one as kind as her, but I knew the truth. Not a single thing that woman ever said was true.
This isn't just about my family—kids in the village were all raised being told, "If you do bad things, the man-eating god in the mountains will take you away." That much is fine. Pretty common story anywhere.
My dad left before I was born, and my mom was always working, so grandma took care of as a stand-in mother.
People would say, "She takes such good care of you, what a kind woman," so I believed it when I was a kid. But it was nothing like that. Grandma had wanted a boy and couldn't have one, so she just used as a substitute. The way she spoiled was abnormal. She really was awful.
I don't rember getting scolded much, but I do rember a few tis she said, "The man-eating god will take you away." Every ti, I wondered why it was "man-eating" in the past tense and not just "man-eater." When I was around ten, I asked her about it.
And then she said,
"A long ti ago, it was a scary god that ate people in exchange for granting wishes. But one day, the village's shrine maiden offered herself and pleaded, 'Please, let this be the last ti you eat soone from the village.' After that, it beca a kind god that watches over the village."
Sothing like that.
Not a single bit of grandma's story was true.
Right after I started middle school, I had a near-death experience.
I was walking past a nearby gas station on my way ho from school when a truck that had just finished fueling suddenly turned and hit hard.
I don't rember pain or fear. Just that the red on the back of the truck ca sliding toward like a landslide. That's the only thing I rember.
I heard later that it was really bad. Apparently, sothing that shouldn't have been sticking out of my stomach had co out, and the doctor was desperately trying to push it back in.
I was in intensive care for a day and a half. When the pale-faced doctor ca to tell my mom to prepare for the worst, grandma stood up and said, "I'll handle it." Honestly, I would've preferred to die then.
I was probably in a coma, dreaming. I didn't see the river to the afterlife or a flower field or anything like that. Instead, I saw a dark mountain path. Not my own legs, but wrinkled ones, thin and mottled like they were covered in death spots, moving step by step. With each step, the scenery moved forward and the darkness deepened.
At one point, like a cara panning upward, I saw the sky. Bare, branch-like twigs spread across the night like capillaries.
When my gaze returned to the ground, there was a strange creature. It had horns like a deer, but it looked more like a bundle of dry straw than a living thing. It reminded of one of those old straw mats or winter cloaks displayed at the community center.
It had no eyes, nose, or ears. The center of its straw-like fur was swollen and kept twitching. Where the fur split, I could see faintly translucent red tubes and plastic-bag-like things—I figured those were its organs. And yet, it didn't even have a mouth.
My gaze dropped, and all I could see was the wet ground covered in gravel and dead leaves. I think I knelt before it, like bowing in apology. That's where the dream ended.
When I woke up, grandma was by my bed and told I was going to be okay.
The anesthesia was still working, so I felt no pain, but it felt like my insides were empty. I figured it was because so organ had been torn apart, and I'd only been on IV fluids.
Nothing happened for a while after that. When I went to college, I left the village.
When I ca back occasionally, I noticed a newly paved road leading into the forest at the base of the mountain, and I'd see people sneaking off that way after dark, looking around nervously.
Just the other day, I ca back to the village for grandma's funeral. More like, they told sothing serious had happened and begged to co, so I rushed over.
When I got to the hospital, the police were there, and as soon as they saw , they said, "We don't think it's a cri, but..."
I followed them, wondering what was going on, and found the doctor who had done grandma's autopsy and my mom both looking completely lost.
They said grandma's insides were completely gone.
According to the doctor, it looked like they had been torn apart by a wild animal. Nothing had shown up during her checkups while she was alive, and even when she had colon cancer surgery at eighty, everything inside was accounted for.
It was like so animal had eaten her guts right after she died and then put her back together perfectly, without even leaving a scar from the surgery.
There's no way my mom, who had been taking care of her, could've done sothing like that. We didn't understand anything, but for the ti being, we finished the funeral and cremation.
When I got ho, I was given a notebook I didn't even want as a keepsake. Apparently, grandma had been keeping a diary. My mom said she didn't understand what was written in it, but it had my na, so she gave it to .
"She was senile in her final years," my mom said as an excuse and handed the notebook. When I opened it, the first page had my na written in brush pen.
From the next page on, there were scribbles in red pencil—like a kid drawing mazes in a sketchbook with loops and swirls.
My mom laughed and said, "You used to draw stuff like this when you were little," but she was wrong. I knew imdiately—it was the organs of that monster.
That's when it started. People in the village who had seed perfectly healthy while alive were now being found with all their guts missing during autopsies.
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